Head Over Feet
by SeaBreeze
Summary: Miroku is a vain, world famous rockstar and Sango? His unfortunate manager. Life is complicated enough for the workaholic and her client without love being added to the mix...AU
1. Chapter 1

Head Over Feet

By Seabreeze

Chapter One

A/N: Ok, I've been running this story through my head for at least like 3 years. I think I'm finally gonna make a serious effort to get it all out into Microsoft Word so I can hopefully post it on read and review! Your feedback is our lifeblood. Thanks

Disclaimer: Nope. Still not delusional enough to think I own these characters.

It took Sango a long time to wake up that morning.

Granted, she had expected this, and thus had set her alarm for an hour and a half before she needed to get up.

She was dressed and ready to go ten minutes early, as planned, smartly wearing gray slacks with a matching vest over a crisp white collared blouse. Her vest was lined with pink silk, and around her head a ribbon of the same color.

She checked her hair and makeup in the mirror – both done very simply with a touch of the latest style - grabbed her purse, a clipboard, and a set of keys, and walked out of the hotel room door. She stopped at the door next to her own and knocked.

"Time to get up," she said loudly into the door. She waited for a response, and when none came, knocked again, this time, harder. "Miroku. Wake up. Don't make me break down the door. You know I will. You've got a big day ahead of you."

This time, she heard movement inside the room, and waited patiently until the door opened to reveal a half-naked, tousled young man.

"Mornin', sunshine," he said by way of his usual morning greeting for her. He gave her a silly grin as she glared at him.

"The limo leaves in 20 minutes," she said, crossing her arms. "You haven't even showered yet."

"Sorry. Late night." He said, winking suggestively at her. She peeked over his shoulder to see a blonde lump in the covers in his bed. She fought a strong urge to roll her eyes dramatically.

"Indeed." She said boredly. "Get back in there and get ready. If you're not showered and dressed within 15 minutes, I'm dragging you out anyways."

"You got it, dollface." He said with another wink, chucking her under the chin before disappearing behind the door. She scowled and leaned against the wall by his door and waited, taking in her surroundings. Though it was so ridiculously early in the morning, the hotel hallway was brightly lit and boasted cheerful golds, greens, and navy blues. Sango scowled – it was fine, for any other time of the day. After five minutes the door opened and the blonde Sango had seen in Miroku's bed, barely dressed and as tousled as he had been, came out sheepishly. Sango glared at the girl as she walked away, and continued to wait.

One minute before she had to drag him out of his room, he appeared in the doorway, as ready to go as she was.

"Don't call me dollface," she said sharply as they walked down the hallway together. "I'm your manager, not your groupie."

"Oh, but you could be both!" Miroku said, as if she had a great opportunity and was missing out on it. She stared straight ahead and seethed.

"Don't test me this morning," she bristled. He laughed and gave her a slight nudge with his elbow.

"Cheer up, Sango. It's going to be a good day, I can just feel it."

"Yeah," she said. "For you."

The limo arrived at the city's largest record store early, but not early enough to beat the most dedicated of fans.

"No matter what we do, we can't beat them," Sango commented dryly, watching as hordes of girls caught sight of the limo and began to scream and jump up and down wildly.

"Nobody can beat my fans," Miroku replied, smoothing his hair in his reflection in the window.

"Huh," Sango said, rolling her eyes. There were worse things a megastar could be – crazy, a drug addict, a pedophile, in major debt, rehab, or even jail. But in her experience, even the best of people came out of Hollywood with some sort of attitude problem – in Miroku's case, vanity and lecherousness. Miroku was attractive, and unfortunately he was very aware of that fact and ready to use it to garner as much female attention as he could. It was a little pathetic, when she thought about it, but it worked every time nonetheless.

It took some sneaky maneuvering, five security guards, and an angry Sango to get Miroku safely inside the back of the record store, but they somehow managed it. It seemed that the second he had stepped foot into the building, it filled with the sound of excited fans banging on the windows.

"I don't know if I can take this for the next half hour," Sango groaned, rubbing her temples as the store employees set the store up for the day's big event.

"Of course you can," Miroku replied. "Just pretend that each minute that passes, you make another hundred bucks,"

"I'd rather be broke," she retorted, but pushed herself away from the wall to help the employees anyways. "Please put your jacket on, you look ridiculous." She added. Miroku, in worn jeans and a wife beater, looked down on himself.

"What's wrong with this? It shows off my shoulders and my arms." He said. Sango had to refrain from doing something dramatic like slapping him across the face.

"Could you _be_ any more vain?" she snapped, irritated.

"Hey, it's not for me, it's for the fans." He replied with a grin, knowing he was irking her.

"I don't give a crap. Put your jacket on."

"Come on, Sango, think about the – "

"Girls love a little mystery, Miroku." She cut him off. "Jacket. Now." As far as she was concerned, the conversation was over. She took a box of his latest album from an employee and began to set up the cds on a table near the center of the store.

"Aww. You're just trying to keep my wonderful physique to yourself, I get it. Ok, I'll put my jacket on. For you." He winked, but she wasn't paying attention to him.

"Whatever gets you to do what I want," she said under her breath. A nearby male employee snickered, and moments later Miroku appeared, dark denim jacket and all.

"Thank you," Sango sung smugly. Miroku grinned and tipped an imaginary hat to her.

"Anything for you, darlin'," he drawled.

Within twenty minutes, the noise outside the record store had become substantially louder, and the banging on the windows more frantic.

"They're going to bust them right in," muttered the manager before sending two of the security guards outside for crowd control. The noise immediately subsided, and Sango heaved a huge sigh of relief.

"Ok, let's get this thing rolling. Miroku, I need you behind the main table. I want 4 security guards there, too – two in front and two behind. We probably need a couple to hold the line and a couple outside so they don't start banging on the windows again," Sango called out. "Remember, no one touches Miroku without his ok, and not for longer than 10 seconds, max." she turned to Miroku, who was currently patting his hair down and making sure it was in exactly the right spot. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"Are you?" he shot back with a grin. Sango collapsed into the chair next to his.

"Barely," she said. "The screaming's what gets me. You're one guy, I mean, you're a human. You put your pants on one leg at a time, like everybody else in the world. Why do they have to scream?"

"Now, now, Sango, try to be understanding. As if my looks and my charm aren't enough, I'm a musical genius. My music touches these people's hearts and souls. You of all people should know their mania personally."

"Don't forget your humility," Sango added with false shock. "It's the one thing that drove me to be your manager,"

"Where would I be without you to remind me how great I am?" he teased back. Sango rolled her eyes.

"Still, each time I make your introduction, it becomes harder and harder not to preface it with the threat that those who scream will be escorted to the back of the line."

At that moment, the clock reached 7 am, the doors opened, and pandemonium ensued. Screaming (to Sango's delight) female fans streamed in the store, barely contained to the line the security guards and the rope barriers. Miroku was beaming when Sango saw him out of the corner of her eye; he was soaking up the energy and the attention of his fans like a sponge. Once the maximum number of fans had crammed themselves into the line in the record store (there was still a long line outside of the record store, wrapping around the busy street corner), the manager gave Sango a nod that meant her microphone was on, and she could begin introducing Miroku whenever she was ready. She stood and the front of the line hushed as she raised the microphone to her lips.

"Excuse me," she said loudly and clearly. "Excuse me. My name is Sango Taijiya, and I am here today to welcome all of you to the release of Miroku's brand new album, _Through the Storm_! Miroku and the owners of Jidai Record Store would appreciate it if you would wait calmly, patiently, and quietly in line until you reach the table. At the right side of the table you will be able to purchase _Through the Storm_, as well as posters, t-shirts, and other memorabilia to be signed by Miroku himself! Shikon Record Company and Jidai Record Store hope you enjoy your visit with Miroku, and more importantly, the new album!"

The crowd went wild and immediately burst into loud and excited chatter. Sango groaned softly and plopped back into her seat as the mass of fans descended upon the comparatively small table. It was going to be a long day.

A/N: ok, what'd you think? I know it wasn't explosively exciting or anything, but I'm just setting the stage, so to speak...


	2. Chapter 2

Head Over Feet

By Seabreeze

Chapter Two

A/N: Ok, as I posted the first chapter of the story I was like, where the heck did I get such a clichéd name? I spend so much time trying to be original and I come up with that. Nice. I think it may or may not be based on Alanis Morrisette's song of the same name, but I'm still irritated with myself. Too late to change it now, huh? A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed – you guys are the best!

Disclaimer: NO. NOT MINE.

The day had been indeed been long. There were so many screaming, crying, dancing, fainting, hysterical, love-struck, star-struck and unavoidably loud fans there for the signing that they ended up staying an additional three and a half hours. Even then, there was a line of people sorely disappointed at having missed a chance to meet Miroku face to face, but as far as Sango was concerned, the day was done. Despite himself, Miroku was worn out as well – more than a handful of girls had attempted to leap the table separating themselves from him and grab a hold, and a few succeeded. From trying to fight them off as kindly as possible to smiling and signing autographs and cds and taking pictures with people and being just as charming as could be, Miroku was probably even more tired than Sango, who was part of the security team whose aim it was to keep people a safe distance from the rockstar.

No, letting a few hundred fans down was a necessary sacrifice to make for everyone involved – the security guards had taken shifts and were still exhausted by the end of the night.

Sango was relieved she had been smart enough not to plan anything else for the rest of the day, though she couldn't help but be irritated that they had broken her schedule. Still, when the sun had started to set they packed up what little they had into the back of the limo and headed back to the hotel, Miroku of course with not one but two girls hanging all over him. Sango made him swear to stay in the hotel room or in decent disguise or else come get her before she left him and his new "friends" at his suite and headed for her own. It was a perk of being a manager who needed to be physically close to the rockstar at all times – they couldn't very well put her in a regular room a floor below, could they?

She was quite content to settle into her luxury hotel room for the night, even if it was an early night – she wasn't much of a partier, and even if she was, tonight she would've been too tired. She changed out of her work clothes and hopped immediately into the shower – a shower of marble and glass, three times the size of an ordinary shower and filled daily with the finest foreign soaps and shampoos. She was certainly a girl who could appreciate the finer things in life, so she took her time testing the different soaps – some of which dispensed directly from the shower wall itself – and making sure her skin was as soft and fragrant as could be.

After her shower, she wrapped herself into the softest robe (complimentary, of course), popped on the big-screen tv and ordered a few movies before calling room service. She only had to bang on the wall between her room and Miroku's twice demanding quiet, and by the time they had quieted down (Sango didn't let herself think about why), her food had arrived. She slept well that night.

The next morning was the same as the previous one – Sango woke herself up, got dressed, ate, and went to wake Miroku; excused his bedmates of the night before and gave him five minutes to appear before her, crisp and clean and ready to go. Only this time, he was a little late. So late, in fact, that Sango refused to speak to him the entire limo ride to the studio, and only when he continued to lag behind did she finally give up the cold shoulder. She was not the only one rushing him – everyone backstage was going crazy, and they all seemed to sag immediately with relief upon his arrival before bursting into hurried business once again. Sango, for one, found herself literally pushing her client through the crowd towards the backstage.

"Come ON! You're going to be late, you lazy son-of-a-"

"Relax, Sango, this is _me_ we're talking about. No one cares if I'm late." Despite his words, he picked up pace suddenly.

Sango sighed inwardly, rolling her eyes.

"So humble, so modest, even after all this time in the spotlight," she said sarcastically, shoving through a crowd of cameramen to keep up with her client, clipboard and Starbucks cappuccino in hand. The young rockstar stopped so abruptly before the stage that Sango ran into him, spilling the cappuccino all over herself.

"Miroku! Geez, you big oaf…" she began, wiping the drops of hot coffee off her black slacks uselessly, but he wasn't paying attention. She was used to this.

"Coffee, please?" he asked over his shoulder, eyes held fast to the two people on the soundstage in front of them.

"Here, your Lordship." Sango thrust it at him, and he took it politely, ignoring her sarcasm.

"Thanks, doll," he said, turning around long enough to wink and flash her his heart-melting smile. Her heart fluttered for some reason she didn't understand, until she remembered her client was late for his own interview on LIVE national tv.

"Don't call me 'doll', Miroku." She replied automatically. Both turned back to the stage as a distant, broadcasted voice said:

"Is our rock-n-roller here yet, Kathy-Lee?"

"That's my cue," Miroku said, handing his agent and manager the coffee. "Wish me luck?" he asked, reached around her to grab her butt.

"You PERV!" she snapped, annoyed that he had taken advantage of her when her hands were full. He jogged on camera, flicking his shiny black hair cockily at the audience of screaming teenage girls. Sango rolled her eyes as she leaned against the wall and absentmindedly sipped his cappuccino. Her heart pounded heavily from the stress of the morning, and she let out a huge sigh of relief that he was FINALLY where he was supposed to be.

'Stop wasting time, Sango,' she scolded herself, irritated. 'You have a job to do.' She headed to the crowded dressing room, where all of Miroku's attendants (hair, makeup, wardrobe, etc.) watched him on the small screen. He laughed, joked, flirted, completely comfortable being on Live national television. Perfect. She made a note in her planner, checking the morning show. She had to say one thing for him; he made the perfect rockstar. Now to check and make sure security was up to par…

On her way back, she heard her client's voice distantly:

"As a surprise, I'll be signing autographs after the show!" The audience went wild, but Sango let out a yell of frustration that stopped nearly everyone within a 40 foot radius.

"That's NOT on the schedule!" she snapped and stormed off to wait for him backstage. Of course, instead of coming off at the intended 11:01 am, he came back around 11:30. Sango was furious and made sure he knew it.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded, arms crossed threateningly. Miroku gave her a bright smile.

"Fan service!" he explained, taking her clipboard from her and checking the schedule. "Listen, Sango, I'm sorry about throwing you off your schedule, but don't worry about it! Look, everything worked out like it was supposed to. On top of that, more fans got to meet me!" his face was so openly happy and hopeful that she almost didn't argue.

"No, Miroku, everything's NOT how it's supposed to be. It's already 11:30 – we're supposed to be in and out of the coffee shop right now. This is going to set our entire day back AT LEAST a half hour."

"So we'll skip the coffee trip for today, Sango. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is… is… seriously, Miroku… the schedule!" she was so frustrated that her irritation kept her from reasonable explanation, and despite trying to stop himself, Miroku couldn't hold back a chuckle. Upon receiving an infuriated look from her, he sobered immediately and took her hand in his.

"I_promise_ you, Sango, that everything will be okay if we skip the coffee shop today. Trust me."

Sango sighed, relenting to his honest sincerity.

"Fine. Fine, Miroku. But no more deviations, okay? They drive me crazy. Don't push it again. You will regret it." She put as much venom into the threat as she could muster, and Miroku seemed to give in.

"No more deviations. I promise."

"Good." Sango dropped his hand and tapped his head sharply with clipboard that held her beloved schedule. "Now get going. We have a lot to do before we head back home."

A/N: This chapter feels strange to me, It is a weird, Frankenstein mix of like five different pieces of chapters that were to make up several different versions of this story… whew. Anyway, good news is, I got hella inspired last night and I've got a more solid plan for this story – I even had to add an additional two chapters. Sweet!

Please please please read and review! Each review is a little inspiration to get off my butt and get writing again.


	3. Chapter 3

Head Over Feet

By Seabreeze

Chapter Three

A/N: Thank you to all my kind reviewers! I'm sorry this chapter took so long.

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

- - -

Managing a famous rock star had not been her plan for her life. It was the sort of career you fell into by happenstance; the kind of thing that happened before you realized or remembered how.

It had worked out so that the new Rookie manager for Shikon Records – how had she gotten involved with them again? Through a friend, most likely, but she had long forgotten who – was paired up with the rookie talent Miroku, a serious, bespectacled songwriter with handsome good looks and the charm to get him anywhere he wanted to go. She had been so young at the time – they both had – and, in retrospect, so naïve. They had been put together because neither was expected to be particularly successful, but with Sango's sharp managing and Miroku's natural talent and appeal, they had become Shikon's number one act for the past few years.

She still remembered the first time she had seen him. He looked like a studious college student in his cable sweater, glasses, khaki pants and loafers, and she found him thoughtful and polite. She would never have thought at the time that the pensive poet who started her career would transform into a vain, cocky, flirtatious rockstar.

She remembered the first time he had played one of his songs for her: as sensitive as he looked, his songs were still so insightful and powerful it rocked her to the core. Her first task was to find him the best producer out there, and it had been no small task. Eventually, however, she had convinced the man known simply as Sesshoumaru that her client had talent that only he could improve. Sesshoumaru and Miroku went to the recording studio a week later, and after three months Sango presented the most flawless record she had ever heard to the head of the record company, and it was all history from there.

They said fame came as if overnight, and for Miroku, there was no exception. His first single was released to the major radio stations all over the country, and within weeks he was considered the most honest, promising young act to come along in years. It wasn't too long after his song hit the top ten most requested songs on the radio that Sango was contracted by a major car company and charity organization asking for the rights to Miroku's first hit for use in television commercials.

The song fit the needs of the charity far better than it fit the needs of the car commercial. The song, entitled "One Last Push", was about hope and struggling through the hard times. Miroku and Sango agreed to let the charity use the song, which only brought Miroku more fame. A music video was filmed and released to the public, who ate up Miroku's insightful, inspiring lyrics and handsome appearance.

A few performances on live TV, the final release of the album, and everything exploded from there. Sango's job got considerably more complicated: photo shoots, interviews, appearances at award shows… it seemed endless.

He became a sex symbol overnight, and with his first Grammy it seemed he had changed for good.

It was interesting and terrifying to watch her sweet, thoughtful friend become someone who was well aware of his amazing talent and good looks. He realized the joys of having beautiful women do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. She worried his attitude would affect his song writing skills, change them to songs about money and women… but they didn't change.

Perhaps it was because he knew his sensitive songs were a cornerstone in his popularity. But the fact that his songs remained deep and insightful amazed her. It made her believe that, somewhere deep inside the narcissistic nymphomaniac he had become was the quiet, kindhearted boy in a cable sweater with nothing he wanted for or from the world but to share his music…

It was not something she was proud of. On the contrary. She had known from the start it was wrong, but it was not something she could help.

She was in love with him.

It had not been so bad at first – he was cute, sensitive, and genuine. Anyone would've fallen for him in her shoes. But as his fame – and his ego – grew, she found her love stayed the same, and she began to hate herself for it. She had never acted on it, never shown it, and now she hid it better than ever. She was ashamed. Like every other girl on the planet, it seemed, she was disarmed by his rogueish smile, enchanted by his sparkling eyes, and, at least inwardly, positively drooled over his ridiculously toned physique.

His lyrics touched her heart and sparked a fire in her soul, and when he flicked his dark hair out of his eyes she wanted to swoon.

She was no worse than a fan, she knew. She was better at hiding it, and ridiculously good at not letting him get to her. Not that he hadn't tried – it didn't escape his attention that his manager was one attractive female. But Sango was all about being a professional, and she was (as far as she knew) the only woman in the world who didn't collapse into a pathetic, drooling mess whenever he walked into the room.

She told herself that all the things the fans loved about him was only the top of the iceberg for her. She had, after all, known him before he was famous; knew him at 4 o'clock in the morning when he hadn't showered and smelled like alcohol and sex; knew him when he was drunk and as ungallant and unromantic as one could imagine.

She was possessive of him, in her own way. She knew him best, better than anyone else in the world, and despite his endless and overwhelming flaws, she loved him fiercely and, seemingly, eternally.

It was not something she ever saw happening for real – she was a realist as well as a romantic. She loved him, but knew that even if she did give in to him, she would never be his one and only… she had never even considered "being" with him – it was absurd. He was no longer the type to fall – and stay – in love, despite his beautiful songs of love, and she knew that above all else.

Strangely, though, it did not curb her feelings for him in the least bit.

- - -

A/N: Ok, background info chapter… yep, Sango loves him. Duh. Lol. Really, who wouldn't? Please review, though I hate this chapter because nothing happens… but it is necessary.


	4. Chapter 4

Head Over Feet

By Seabreeze

Chapter Four

A/N: For clarification, I didn't actually "hate" the last chapter. Just in comparison to the rest of the story, I found it boring and irritating to write. Thanks to all my lovely readers for their feedback!

Disclaimer: see first chapter. Someday I really will lose it for writing these &$#$#.

-------

Sango woke up with a wide grin on her face, arms flung out to either side of her on her bed, and the moment her eyes opened she let out a joyous giggle.

The sun shone brightly through her curtains onto her bed and the soft carpet beneath it, the birds were chirping, and nothing today could be wrong.

It was her day off.

She rarely got them – being Miroku's manager was a twenty-four/seven, three hundred and sixty-five day a year job. Even holidays like Christmas and Halloween she worked, so when the rare day off came by, it was better than her birthday. She looked over at her bedside clock – 7:15 am. A good three hours later than she usually woke! She flipped over to her stomach and hugged her pillow enthusiastically to her chest. An entire day to herself!

Not that she didn't enjoy her job – she wouldn't be doing it if she didn't. As stressful as it was working with someone as capricious and temperamental as Miroku, it also had its rewards – for one, she made more money than she even really understood. She could afford to dress in all the latest couture fashions, if she was so inclined, and she could live in a mansion with a pool and maids and butlers… but that wasn't really her thing. It was also exciting just because it wasn't a desk job, and she essentially got to experience the life of a rock star first hand. She attended all the hottest parties, went to all the fancy award shows, and got immediate acceptance into the most exclusive clubs all over the country. Granted, she wasn't given nearly the same treatment as Miroku received, but it was nice nonetheless.

She leapt out of bed and into the shower. After she was clean and her hair was dry, she put on her favorite pair of oversize sweatpants and a small white t-shirt from her high school with relish. She never got to dress so comfortably, never got to go through her day according to her own whims, instead of having to cater to Miroku's. She arranged her hair into cute twin braids that hung nearly to the bottom of her ribcage and plopped onto her luxurious leather couch, pondering how she would spend her day.

Perhaps a little shopping, to start the day off. She never had time to spend money on herself, and she definitely could afford to splurge a little bit. Actually, she could afford to buy several brand new, top of the line cars, but all she wanted today was some clothes and maybe a cute pair of shoes or four.

Yes, shopping was certainly on the schedule for today. There were several movies she had been too busy to see that were surely out on DVD, and perhaps she could order herself some good food and spend the rest of the day catching up on those movies…

She sighed heavily and dreamily. The perfect relaxing, all-about-Sango day. It was going to be wonderful.

--------

Some part of Sango resented herself for it, but she absolutely loved to walk around the high-class stores like Tiffany's, Jimmy Choo, Chanel, and Versace wearing nothing but comfy sweats, an old t-shirt and track jacket, and a pair of expensive sunglasses that told people she did, indeed, belong in such stores. She liked to pretend she was a celebrity in bad disguise; she felt glamorous – and comfortable! – and like she ruled the world.

Her first buy was a pair of obscenely expensive boots that were, at the same time, extremely comfortable and made her look like a big deal. The day had started off well, if the boots were any indication. She went on to buy a stylish bomber jacket – on sale – a pair of divine, electric blue heels, and a dress that would look stunning for the next award show she attended. When she hit the jewelry store and walked away with a bracelet worth more than most people made in a week, she knew it was time to head home.

In the middle of her visit to the video rental store, her pager began beeping wildly. She practically dropped all of the movies she was considering in her surprise and haste to patch the message.

It was Miroku. She groaned and pushed number one on her speed dial.

"Hello, lovely!" he said cheerfully. She felt her heart drop a little bit.

"Miroku, it's my day off," she said, a warning evident in her voice. "You're not supposed to bug me unless… unless you caught yourself on fire or something. Are you on fire, Miroku?"

"Aw, come on now, sweet thing, I just wanted to see what you were doing!"

"I don't believe you." She snapped. "Cut to the chase, Miroku. What do you want?"

"Sango, I'm hurt!" he protested. Sango scowled but said nothing. "Look, fine. I wanted to know if you could come over and help me with this song I'm working on. I'd really appreciate it if you could stop by."

He sounded so sincere. Sango groaned inwardly and placed all her movies back on the shelf, cursing her dedication to her client.

"Give me an hour," she said, not attempting in the least to hide her irritation.

"Great!" he said enthusiastically. "See you then!"

The phone clicked and Sango sighed, her heart heavy. So much for her spectacular day off.

-------

"Ah! There you are!" Miroku greeted her with such zeal that it almost made up for the fact that he had interrupted her day off. Almost.

"Here I am," she agreed, pulling off her jacket. "What do you need help with?"

Miroku led her through his ridiculously luxurious loft apartment to his music room, a small simple square room with great acoustics and only a comfortable two-seater couch and a spindly wooden chair for furnishing. He motioned for her to sit on the couch and took the chair for himself, picking up the worn acoustic guitar that leaned against it.

"Here's the deal," he said, absentmindedly playing a few chords. "I've got 14 songs that I think the producers will love for the next album," he said as Sango nodded mutely in understanding. "But I'm missing _that_song, you know, the one that everybody loves no matter who it is."

"Can you play me a few of the other songs so I get a feel for how the album as a whole will sound?"

"Sure." Miroku said, grinning inexplicably as he began to play a quick number about a girl who is dumped by her boyfriend and writes an angry song in response. The song was irreverent and fun and displayed Miroku's knack for getting into other people's mindsets. The next song he played for her was a quiet, insightful ballad about loving someone from afar, and the final song he played for her was about the self-destructive nature of humans, how they destroy their world, their relationships, and finally themselves.

Sango sat thoughtfully, wrinkling her nose in thought.

"What kind of song are you thinking about?" she asked finally.

"A ballad," Miroku said firmly. And Sango suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. Typical. He did know how to play to his fans' interest, though, which was part of what brought him so much fame.

"Okay… any idea what kind of ballad?" she prompted. Miroku shook his head.

"I think I've got the music down, at least for the chorus – " he played her one of the most beautiful, catchy hooks she had ever heard " – but I've been brainstorming for days and I can't think of anything worth putting on to paper."

"That's brilliant, Miroku!" Sango exclaimed, referring to the music he had played her. Miroku grinned.

"One of my better creations, I must admit," he said, running his fingers through his silky black hair. Sango rolled her eyes. She should have known better than to stroke his ego, even if she had done so unintentionally.

"Okay," she said, leaning forwards, elbows on her knees, as she thought. "Unless the lyrics are absolute crap, you pretty much can't go wrong with that chorus." She said, rubbing her temples.

"I want it to be a tour de force, though," Miroku said.

"Well, maybe you're putting too much pressure on yourself, then," Sango replied. "You've got great music and now you need a great subject and great lyrics. So why don't you simplify it?"

"What do you mean, simplify it?" he asked.

"Think about it, Miroku, some of the greatest songs ever written are plain old love songs."

"That's kind of boring, Sango," Miroku said skeptically. Sango rolled her eyes.

"Maybe if you have no imagination," she retorted. "Think about… think about Ben Folds' 'The Luckiest'. It's just a love song, but it's so unique. Nobody can resist that song. This could be _that_ kind of song."

Miroku looked thoughtful.

"Yeah. Ok." He said after a moment. "What's it about?"

Sango threw her arms up in frustration.

"Can't you draw any inspiration from your own life?" she demanded.

"Sango," Miroku said dubiously. "You know me better than anyone else. I can write good music, but when have I ever really been serious about a girl?"

"Good point." Sango said. "Look, it's your song, not mine. I'll do some brainstorming, but for now, that's all I've got." She stood.

"You're leaving?" Miroku asked in surprise. "But we don't even know what we're writing about!"

"Miroku, you're the songwriter, not me."

"Come on, Sango, stick around for a bit, maybe we can – "

Sango saw the dangerous, mischievous spark in his eyes and cut him off sharply.

"Miroku. It's my day off. I'm going to go home and enjoy it. I will see you tomorrow." She said firmly. Miroku sighed.

"Your loss," he shrugged, strumming absent-mindedly on his guitar as he watched her zip up her jacket. "You look nice today," he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him. Sango felt blood rush her cheeks and turned away, scoffing.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically as she left him alone with his guitar, wondering what brought on his comment and why she reacted the way she did…

- - -

A/N: please read and review, lovely readers!


	5. Chapter 5

Head Over Feet

Head Over Feet

By Seabreeze

Chapter Five

A/N: Oh baby, get ready…

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

--

The next two weeks were busy, hectic, chaotic, overwhelming, stressful, exciting, irritating, frenzied, and physically demanding. In short, it was what Sango was used to. Miroku had had so many appearances to make, so many performances scheduled, that it practically felt like they had not been apart for a moment. On top of all the "business" obligations they had, Miroku had insisted on attending several Hollywood parties.

It was the parties that got to Sango. As if it weren't enough that she had to follow Miroku around ego-maniac, alcoholic famous people all night, but the music was always loud and it was always crowded to the point that she always lost her client, and spent half the night in a panic wondering where on earth he had gone.

She was not one for parties. For one, she had great disdain for those so intoxicated that they acted like fools and fell all over themselves. For another, she simply wasn't comfortable amongst the rambunctious, carefree rich and famous.

Miroku seemed to be going to more and more of these parties. Irritatingly, he invited her along to each of them. She knew he was trying to be a good friend, trying to give her something back for all the hard work she did, but in truth, it only created more work for her. Most of the time she felt obligated to accept his invitations, and once she was at a party, she automatically went into work mode. There was a part of her that just couldn't trust him to go to a crazy party and come out with his image in tact. What if the party turned out to be a cover for the sale of drugs? Sango would surely find out and get him out of there before anyone could even know that he had been present. What if he got drunk and did something objectionable, and it got out to the papers? No, Sango was meticulous when it came to her job and her client. She knew her presence kept him (somewhat) in line, and also kept him protected.

Regardless, such events were torturous for her. She generally would find a seat at the bar, or at some empty table, if one was available, ordering cokes or waters and keeping a watchful eye on Miroku and the people around her. Often drunk men hit on her; she had become very good at growing immune to such attention. Occasionally someone in the same boat as she was in would find her and they would chat casually until it was time for one of them to leave.

But most of the time, she merely sat alone, watching and listening until Miroku was ready to head back to his mansion or his hotel room – whichever it happened to be that night – with, usually, a ridiculously dressed, heavily inebriated woman on each arm.

It actually never ceased to surprise her how much Miroku drank, and how in control of himself he always seemed to be. His limits – if he had any – were never surpassed. He laughed, he danced, he talked exuberantly, but when he came to tell her he was ready for her to call his limo at the end of the night, his eyes were clear, speech even and regular, and his balance was perfect.

She couldn't tell if she admired him for this or thought less of him for it.

Sango found herself sitting alone at a bar again on one of these such nights, dressed nicely enough not to be inconspicuous but not as wildly as some of the party patrons. She had let herself wear her electric blue heels out as a consolation for having to follow Miroku to another swanky party. This particular party was thrown by easily the most extravagant man in Hollywood. Sango had never seen so many ice sculptures in one room; had never seen such ridiculously elegant silver wear and crystal glasses. All of the women in attendance – or at least most of them – were dressed scantily; all were stunning and dancing enticingly on the several huge dance floors surrounding a central DJ's station.

The second they had walked in Miroku had let his libido lead him straight into the nearest mass of striking, leering, rambunctious ladies. Sango rolled her eyes, and quickly found a spot at the bar where she could easily keep an eye on her client.

The majority of the evening passed without anything spectacular happening – well, nothing spectacular inside of an excessive Hollywood party, anyways. A few drunk, tuxedo-wearing men flirted unsuccessfully with Sango, who had been chatting idly with the bartender.

"So what're you even doing here, anyway?" the young woman asked, light brown hair swept away from dark, almond shaped eyes. Sango shrugged, taking a sip of her lemonade.

"Just making sure my client stays out of trouble," she said. The bartender laughed.

"Babysitting, huh?" she asked, drying a glass as she spoke. "I hope you're paid well."

"Well," Sango admitted. "But not well enough," she added with a grin. The bartender laughed again.

"I couldn't imagine being around these people all day every day – I'd shoot myself."

"Trust me, you'd turn to homicide first," Sango assured her. They laughed until a man on the other side of the bar caught the bartender's attention.

"I'll be right back," she said, leaving Sango to sip her lemonade. She returned shortly, holding a brightly colored drink in a martini glass. She held it out for Sango, face impish.

"I think things just got more interesting for you," she said, handing the drink to Sango. Sango stared at the bartender in disbelief. The woman jerked her head behind her, to the man on the other side of the bar who had just spoken with her. "From that gentleman over there," she said. She winked. Sango stared blankly at the drink in her hands.

"How drunk is he?" she asked bluntly, and the woman laughed.

"Not at all, as far as I can tell. He's cute. You should go talk to him."

Sango peeked around the bartender to see a tall man with curly brown hair flash a handsome smile her way. She blushed furiously, despite herself.

"I can't!" she argued, mortified. She tried to discretely give the drink back, but the woman ignored her.

"Come on, you're so bored you're making friends with the barmaid," she said pointedly. "Just go talk to him. What's the worst that can happen? Besides, if he does anything creepy, I have a button under the bar that gets security here in under a minute."

Sango whined so softly only she could hear it. The last thing she wanted to do was go talk to the handsome man across the bar – she was a mess when it came to handsome men. She hadn't dated – hadn't even flirted – since high school. Miroku had been the focus of her life for a long time, and she had utterly no idea how to handle such a situation.

The bartender did not wait for Sango's answer, instead turning and motioning for the man to come over.

"How could you?!" Sango gasped melodramatically. The bartender rolled her eyes.

"Please," she muttered as the man approached, moving far enough away to give them privacy.

"Hi," the man said. "I know this is very forward, but I was just wondering what a woman like you was doing sitting alone at a bar at a party like this." His crooked grin came easily, and would've relaxed her had he not been so devastatingly handsome up close. Sango gulped.

"Hello," she said, wracking her brain for something appropriate to say. "Thank you for the drink," she said lamely. The handsome man smiled.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, motioning to the bar stool beside her. Sango shook her head, and he sat beside her. She suddenly felt trapped; he meant to talk with her for awhile, it seemed. "So," he said. "What brings you to this particular party?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Sango replied carefully.

"I'm a photographer for Shock Magazone," the man said. He shot her a dazzling grin. "My name is Kentaro Okari, but everyone calls me Kent."

"Hello Kent," Sango said diplomatically. "My name is Sango." It couldn't hurt – Sango was a fairly common name.

"Sango," he said, trying the name out on his lips. He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "No last name, huh?"

"Not yet," she admitted with a slight grin. When he smiled back she realized his eyes were a deep, gold-flecked brown. He was handsome enough to rival Miroku, and was so far much more respectful. She took a sip of her drink and found it tangy and fruity. It was good.

"So you never told me what you're doing here." He said, eyes perceptive.

"Looking out for someone," Sango said, giving Kent an unintentionally mysterious smile before taking another sip.

"You're not going to try and enjoy yourself at all?" he inquired, leaning slightly towards her. She looked at him sideways.

"What about you? Why aren't you out there dancing or mingling?" she asked.

"This isn't really my crowd," Kent replied, watching her take another sip of her drink. "I'm glad you like that. Let me get you another."

"No, no, that's not necessary – "

"I insist," Kent interrupted, smiling kindly.

"Alright," Sango relented.

Kent motioned over the bartender and ordered Sango another martini.

"What are you, someone's publicist? Manager? Bodyguard?" he threw in the last one as a joke, and Sango giggled, starting to feel the warmth of the alcohol (so hard to taste in such a sweet drink!) in her blood.

"Manager, actually," she said.

"Managers following their clients to parties… that's a new one."

"I find he stays pretty much in line when he knows I'm here."

"I'll bet he does," Kent said, and she did not miss that he was coming on to her.

The conversation went on and Kent wasted no time refilling her drinks, often before they were gone yet. Sango had never felt so free and loose, so carefree and giggly. They were flirting heavily after an hour, and all her shyness had melted away.

"I can't believe your client could leave something so beautiful behind," Kent said, resting his hand on her knee. Sango giggled, and somewhere in her head it registered that she was acting like an idiot.

"Miroku only likes easy girls," she said, bursting out laughing as she said it. Kent's eyebrow raised.

"Miroku? As in…?"

"The singer. He's _so_ sensitive, you know?" she snorted.

"I heard he was quite the play boy." Kent mused.

"You've no idea," Sango said with a dramatic sigh.

"So… tell me… have you slept with him?"

"NO!" Sango yelled, unsure why she was yelling. "I told you… Miroku's not into… doesn't like… girls like me."

"How unfortunate for him," said Kent in a deep voice, leaning in slowly to kiss her.

"Oh, no," she said awkwardly, pulling away from him so much that she almost fell from her stool.

"What's the problem, honey?" he asked, perfect full lips and honeyed eyes so close. "You got a boyfriend you're not telling me about?"

"No," Sango laughed. "I'm… holding out for somebody." She lied, the giggle making this apparent. "It's so stupid!" she collapsed into Kent's shoulder with giggles.

"Sango?"

The voice was not Kent's; it came from farther away and was not as overtly masculine and seductive. The voice sounded confused and somewhat pained. Sango turned her head from Kentaro's chest to see Miroku standing three feet away from her, looking very confused indeed.

"Miroku!" she said. "I've had the ….best…time."

"I can see that." Miroku said. His eyes were on Kent's. "I think it's time to go, Sango, you're a mess."

"She can do what she wants to do," Kentaro said, his voice surprisingly harsh. Sango giggled humorlessly and gave Kent a harmless shove.

"It's ok, Kent. I can go."

She suddenly realized Kent's hand was wrapped tightly around her arm, and looked down at it in confusion.

"She's staying," Kent said, hardness and finality in his voice.

"I want to go with Miroku," she argued weakly.

"Let go of my manager before I call security on you," Miroku's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Big man, calling security. Can't you just go back to dancing with those women?" Kent spat. "I almost had her." Despite the anger and irritation in his voice, he had let go of Sango's arm. Miroku took the same arm gently but firmly, and she obediently moved to stand beside him.

"Good thing I showed up when I did, then, isn't it?" Miroku asked, all tension gone from his voice, which, in effect, was somewhat frightening. Kent grumbled and turned away from them as Miroku escorted his stumbling manager outside.

Once they had cleared the crowds inside the mansion, he took the phone from her purse and pushed the speed dial for the limo services. Sango leaned against a stonewall as he called, finding it both difficult and irritating to have to stand for so long.

"Yes, as soon as possible, please," Miroku said, before snapping the phone shut. He turned to Sango. "What were you thinking?" he asked, annoyed. "You of all people, Sango. Always going on about drunken idiots… some handsome guy buys you a couple drinks and you lose your head! He could've been dangerous, Sango."

"He wasn't," she said, disdainfully. "And why do you always get to have all the fun? The one time… I try have fun, you become Mister… Mister Police."

"Because I know how to have fun and be safe about it, Sango. You clearly don't."

Sango crossed her arms and turned away from him, jaw set. The silence between them was probably long and uncomfortable, but to Sango it seemed as if it were only seconds. Finally, Miroku spoke.

"Sango, I know you're trashed, but I don't think you grasp the seriousness of what you did. It was very, very stupid and irresponsible." The words stung, and Sango glared at him.

"Coming from _you_ – "

"It doesn't matter who it comes from. Anyone could see that guy was trying to take advantage of you. He as good as said so, Sango."

Sango stared at his unusually serious, deep violet-blue eyes, and after a moment, moaned.

"You're right," she whispered, pressing her eyes shut in mortification.

"Damn right I'm right."

"Miroku… I'm sorry,"

"Don't apologize to me!" his temper, such a dormant creature, flared again. "You put _yourself_ into a dangerous situation, Sango. You knew it was risky, and yet if I hadn't shown up, you probably would've let him get you drunk enough to sleep with him. Whatever got into you tonight, get over it and grow up."

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her eyes filling quickly with shameful tears. Miroku, back to her, did not notice.

"Yeah, I'll bet you are." His voice was harsh, and Sango had never felt more alone and broken in her life, though perhaps the excessive alcohol in her veins had something to do with the severity of her emotions. She folded her arms over her stomach and hunched over, dwelling in her misery.

After a moment, she heard Miroku sigh. "Look, I'm sorry. You really scared me there, though. I thought you had more sense than that, I thought I didn't need to worry about you. I guess everybody screws up once in a while, though, right?"

Sango felt his hand rubbing her shoulder, and when she raised her eyes to meet his she was stunned by the look in them. Her lower lip quivered as she opened her mouth to speak, when she was abruptly cut off.

"Miroku! What're you doing out here, sexy, the party's just getting good," Miroku turned and Sango peeked around him to see an obnoxiously bleached blonde in a tube dress stumbling towards them.

"Yuki, hey, I actually think I'm going to call it a night. My friend's not feeling well." For once in her life, Sango saw Miroku completely unaffected by a woman who was nearly falling out of her dress and all over him. She saw the girl's eyes sweep over her and back to Miroku.

"So call her a cab. Your night doesn't have to be ruined, baby," the blonde girl suddenly stumbled into Miroku, pressing glossy, pink-stained lips ungracefully to his. She placed her hands on the front of his shirt and arched her back so that her chest pressed against him. For a moment, Miroku did nothing, and then, as if giving in, chuckled and began to kiss Yuki back.

Sango felt like she had been slapped. He had just – they had – and now, this? It wasn't like she hadn't seem him making out with girls a hundred times before, but this time was somehow different. For once in her career, Miroku had shown an interest in her, had shown some hint of emotion towards her, and one trashed hussy came along and he forgot all about Sango? She felt sick to her stomach. Even as just a friend, it hurt to be treated like that.

Unbeknownst to the heavily engaged pair before Sango, the limo Miroku had called pulled up. She pushed herself off the wall, and with one last glance at her client, got into the limo and shut the door behind her.

--

A/N: please read and review, thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Head Over Feet

Chapter Six

By Seabreeze

A/N: Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers and I apologize for the lengthy cliffhanger you got. This particular chapter, for some reason, was difficult to write. Life, too, is difficult.

Disclaimer. See previous chapter. The "song" in this chapter belongs to me.

- - - - -

- - Years Ago, Pre-Fame - -

_Her cell phone – how bizarre, because, barely into her 20's, she had never owned one before – buzzed in her pocket, spooking her. She jumped and scrambled to pick up, flipping it open just after seeing the name "Miroku" flash across the front._

"_Hi, Miroku," she answered._

"_Hey Sango."_

"_What's going on?"_

"_I was wondering if you're busy today," he said. Sango felt a blush rise on her cheeks and pressed her free hand to her face, dreadfully glad he couldn't see her at the moment._

"_Well… I suppose, yes, do you need something?"_

"_Could you come over? I'm working on some songs and I just need a second opinion."_

"_Absolutely, no problem. I'm just running to the grocery store, but after I get back and get everything put away, I'll be right over."_

"_No rush."_

"_Alright, Miroku. See you soon."_

"_Goodbye, Sango."_

_She felt a rush of heat in her veins and realized she was grinning ear-to-ear. Grocery shopping never seemed to take longer, and yet she had never enjoyed it more, knowing that once her food was home, she would be at Miroku's._

_She shouldn't have let herself react so, she knew – he was her client. He was business. He was a paycheck and an acquaintance, but never anything more._

_But he was so kind. She had felt alone since her family had been killed tragically in a house fire, and then, it seemed, when she could not get any lonelier, they had fallen into each other's lives. The solemn, thoughtful songwriter whose almost violet eyes seemed to sear down to the very core of her being – in that first meeting, she swore, he knew everything about her. And yet she knew nothing of him._

_He was always so kind, so aware of her and her feelings. _

_But what had done it for her, what had doomed her to loving him irrevocably, was his music. Such melodies she had never heard before; like he was singing the long-lost music in her heart to her ears. She was lucky as a manager to be placed with such a talented client. She was even luckier, she knew deep down, that she got to hear his music before anybody else in the world._

_She hastily unpacked the groceries once she got home, tossing juice, yogurt, milk, fruits, and vegetables into the fridge and leaving everything else on the small countertop to be put in their proper place later. She raced to the bathroom, bouncing with excited nerves, to check her appearance before heading out. Naturally, she looked much worse than she had when she'd left that morning, and carefully reapplied her makeup and ran a comb through her hair. She grinned at herself in the mirror, grabbed her keys, and hopped in the car. _

_The drive over had her practically humming with nerves. She tapped her fingers rapidly against the steering wheel the entire way, and when she pulled into Miroku's apartment parking lot, it seemed too soon. She was too nervous to stall, and thus wasted no time getting up to his door. She smoothed her hair anxiously, wishing she had a mirror on her, and then lifted the small bronze knocker just below the bronze number 103._

_When Miroku answered the door, his violet eyes were deep and serious. He gave her a small smile._

"_Welcome, Sango. Thanks for stopping by."_

_She wanted to grin and to blush, but she only shook her head._

"_Not at all, Miroku. I'm here to help."_

"_Please, come in. Would you like anything to drink?"_

"_No, thank you," she replied, so quickly that she forgot she was rather thirsty._

"_Are you sure? I was going to grab an iced tea for myself." He led her into a modest kitchen._

"_Alright, an iced tea would be nice," she conceded, and he turned to grin at her. The second he turned back to his fridge, her face caught afire._

"_Raspberry, peach, or lemon? Oh, or diet peach…"_

"_Raspberry, please."_

_Miroku grabbed two bottled raspberry iced teas and handed one to Sango._

"_Would you like a glass?"_

"_No, thank you."_

_They popped the caps and sipped in comfortable silence, Sango taking in her surroundings as she did so._

"_Reminds me of my mother," Miroku sighed after taking a particularly long sip._

"_Hm?" Sango jumped out of her thoughts, surprised to hear Miroku speak. She had never heard of him talk about his family before._

"_My mother. She used to drink Raspberry iced tea constantly." He smiled, attractive features softened. He was quiet, then, and Sango instantly knew that his mother was no longer with him._

"_How long ago?" She asked softly, twisting the bottle in her hands. Miroku glanced up at her, eyebrows lifted slightly._

"_A few years," he replied. Sango nodded and took a sip._

"_For my father, it was black tea. Hot black tea." She laughed a little. "I could never stand the stuff, but I keep some in the house. The smell reminds me of him."_

_They were silent for a moment, and as Miroku finished his tea, he caught her eye. They both knew there was no need to say "I'm sorry for your loss". It was such a strange moment of connection – to realize his sorrow matched her own deep pain; a pain that was so intensely personal that to have another share it was utterly bizarre. _

"_Would you like to get started? I don't want to keep you long…"_

"_Of course."_

_She followed him into his living room, a spare box with worn wooden floors and white washed walls. He had only a beaten but clean and comfortable looking couch, a small tv set on a bookshelf, and a few folding chairs set up across from a cheap coffee table. A single plant sat in the center windowsill, and silk-painted scrolls draped against the walls._

"_Take a seat," he said, stopping in the entryway. "I left my guitar in my room."_

_Sango did not deliberate much in his absence, taking a spot on the far right end of the couch. She tugged her light jacket off, and Miroku was back almost instantly._

"_I feel privileged," she joked, though she knew how serious she was. Miroku smiled at her, sitting on the other end of the couch and strumming his fingers over the strings lazily._

"_I really appreciate you stopping by, Sango. Your opinion is invaluable."_

_This time, she couldn't help but blush, and though he was looking right at her, he did not react in any way that showed he noticed. He was still strumming distractedly._

"_It's actually – it's actually about my parents," he admitted, glancing up at his new manager almost shyly._

"_Oh," Sango said. "This, you mean?" The guitar was soft, and now that he mentioned it, it made perfect sense that it was notes he had strung together regarding the loss of his mother._

_Miroku nodded, and continued playing, humming along now._

"_It's beautiful," she whispered, hating the gentle catch in her voice._

"_Thank you," he said absent-mindedly. Then he began to sing._

"_I know one thing_

_I know one thing_

_I am supposed to stand here strong_

_No singing grieving songs_

_I'll tell you this now_

_I'll tell you this_

_Couldn't sing this if I tried_

_No song like the one where you died"_

_His voice was low – lower than usual – and clear. The heaviness of the lyrics, of the melody, matched that of a rainy day – and for Sango, one particular rainy day, watching two coffins lowered into dark, wet soil. His voice vibrated with sadness, stroking the hurt that still lived in her own heart. She felt her throat tighten as tears welled unrestrained in her eyes._

"_And I can't be the man_

_I watched your eyelids close_

_Even that little boy knows_

_I can't be the man to fill your shoes_

_Can't stand strong and can't refuse_

_I can't live in my bones anymore_

_Watched your chest go still_

_Broken, shaking from that chill_

_I can't be the man I was to begin_

_It's been so long since I've been in_

_I know one thing_

_I'll tell you this_

_I cannot stand at all_

_Cannot be your boy so tall"_

_He had clearly not finished writing his lyrics, as he hummed the bridge and refrain twice more before letting the last few chords of the song reverberate softly in the room. When he looked up to his audience, she had tears flowing freely down her face._

"_Sango – "_

"_No, it's perfect," she choked out. "Excuse me."_

_She stumbled blindly into the kitchen – the only other room she had been in – to collect herself. His song had been like reliving the loss of her family. What she wanted more than anything was to completely lose her head – fall to the floor, sob her heart out until she was exhausted and spent – but now was not the time. She fought to pull herself back under control; taking deep, cleansing breaths, brushing her tears from her face, and distracting herself by thinking hard about the colorful magnets Miroku had on his fridge. She was focused so hard on them that she did not hear him approach._

"_Sango…"_

_She whipped around, surprised, and painfully aware of how puffy and red her face must be._

"_I'm so sorry, Miroku." She said, wanting to meet his eyes, but completely unable to._

"_You're sorry? Sango, I should've warned you – "_

"_No, no. Miroku…" she took another deep breath. "It's good. It's that good." She offered him a weak smile. "I… I really am sorry. I hate when this happens."_

"_Don't apologize!" Miroku looked appalled. "Look, if anyone understands about that kind of thing, it's me." He had stepped closer, virtually forcing her to meet his gaze. "It's okay. You don't think I got through writing that song with dry eyes, do you?"_

_Sango laughed a little._

"_Alright," she conceded, still somewhat mortified at how stripped bare she felt before him. "It's beautiful, Miroku. It's perfect."_

"_I… thank you." It was Miroku's turn to blush. "I may change the lyrics – lyric writing isn't my strong point. I know the wording isn't great, and some of the rhymes are a little jilted and cliché – "_

"_No! I don't think so, anyway." Sango interrupted. "Of course, it's your song. But as is, the simplicity… I wouldn't change a thing. If you made the words any more powerful, well… I just couldn't take it."_

_When she braved a look at him, he had a small smile on his face._

"_Thank you," he said earnestly. "I'm sorry I made you cry. I'm glad, however, that my song touched you."_

"_Anyone who has ever lost someone will be touched." she assured him. Though her tears had long since dried up, she wiped them again, just to make sure. "Did you have other songs you wanted an opinion on…?"_

"_No, that was the only one I wasn't sure about." He paused, looking unsure what to say. "I really appreciate you coming down and listening to my song."_

"_Thank you for sharing it with me," she replied, before checking her watch. "Shoot. I should go. I need to do some research on producers before the meeting with the record company tomorrow."_

"_I'll get your coat," Miroku volunteered, disappearing out the kitchen door and reappearing moments later, jacket in hand._

"_I really am sorry…" he said, handing her the jacket. They began to walk to the front door._

"_So am I," she said with a grin. "Though I suspect neither of us have any real reason to be sorry."_

"_And yet I am. Thank you, Sango, truly."_

"_Anytime. Honestly."_

"_Take care, Sango."_

"_You too. See you tomorrow." She turned and waved as she walked away, smiling as earnestly as she could. He watched her go, and when he could no longer hear her walking down the steps that led to the parking lot, he let his head drop heavily to the wall. He sighed, and closed his door._

- - - - - -

A/N: That chapter was not supposed to have so many tears… hmm.

Miroku's song is my own, though if you want mood music (I always do), here are some suggestions (the first two are my faves, though I'm in love with them all):

Learning How to Die – Jon Foreman

Take Me Home – Aqualung

Permanent – David Cook

Hear You Me – Jimmy Eat World

Let Me Sign – Robert Pattinson

The rest of this story is going to be really fun to write, so expect it more quickly than this chapter came. Also, I'm heading into final exam time, so naturally I'm picking up FFN writing right now instead of studying… because I work like that.

Please review. Thanks for your patience.


	7. Chapter 7

Head Over Feet

Chapter Seven

By Seabreeze

A/N: I hate posting more than a week after I last posted, but I had to do it this time. Happy One-Year Anniversary since I started this story! Yaaaay!

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed last chapter's look into the past. Hopping back to the present now…

Disclaimer: See previous chapter.

- - - - -

Present

- - - - -

It had worked out better than she would've thought. The next day was one of her rare days off, and all she had to do was get up early enough to head over to the record company. Despite the fact that Jidai was the company that employed her, she had spent little time in its building.

She left her apartment by 8, dressed as she usually would for work – why, she didn't really know, except that it felt right – and arrived easily within twenty minutes. She didn't stop to think that any other time, her heart would be pounding and she would be shaky. It was a blessing, really, but she felt too hard and cold to appreciate it.

She had called ahead to make sure Kaede, her immediate boss, was free around 8:30. She did not hesitate when she entered the woman's lavish office, covered wall-to-wall with gold and platinum albums from artists underneath the record company.

"Good morning, Kaede," she greeted, tugging at the soft scarf around her neck to loosen its hold.

"Why, Sango, what a surprise to see your face, and on your day off! What can I help you with?"

"I would like to terminate my contract, effective this morning." Sango replied, voice flat. Kaede stared blankly at her employee for a moment.

"It is well within your rights, of course, Sango, but…"

"I know it's short notice," Sango said. "I apologize for that, I do. I just have to leave. Now."

"Sango, child, is anything wrong? Have we failed you as an employer?" Kaede was concerned, though Sango still betrayed no emotion. She shook her head.

"No, Kaede. Jidai has been great to me. It's just… managing a star like… " – choking the name out was hard – "like Miroku is a life-consuming job. I'm young, Kaede. I haven't been on a date in years, and I have no friends. I can't keep living like this. I just can't."

Kaede looked hard at her employee, and then checked to make sure the door behind her was closed.

"Off the record, child?"

Sango took a deep breath.

"Off the record… it got personal."

"Ah." Kaede sighed. "I see." She fixed Sango with another long look, and Sango wanted to shift outside of her boss's line of vision.

"I… didn't mean for it to – "

"No one ever does." The elder woman's voice was kind, and she sighed. "You are free to go, of course. It's part of your contract. You have my blessing – you have Jidai's – and if you should want recommendations, all you have to do is call."

"And replacing me?"

"Finding a willing body will be easy, child. Finding one with your talent and dedication…" she sighed again. "But I suppose that was part of the problem, wasn't it?"

Sango did not answer.

"Thank you, Kaede." She said, bowing before making her exit.

"Wait, child."

She stopped and turned around.

"Yes, Kaede?"

"Does Miroku know?"

"…no, Ma'am."

"I see. Well, he will find out soon enough."

Sango began, once again, making her way out the door.

"Sango?"

"Yes?" she stopped, but did not turn around this time.

"Thank you for all you have done for Jidai and for Miroku. He would not be where he is today without you."

"Thank you, Kaede."

And with that, she was gone.

- - - - -

The drive home was quiet. She had turned off her CD player – music had a tendency to bring out emotion in her, which was the last thing she needed – and tried to empty her brain of any significant thoughts as she drove. She was fairly successful.

When she got home, she changed into a worn pair of sweatpants and a tank top, turned off her phone, popped a few sleeping pills, and fell asleep to whatever movie was on tv at the time.

It was like turning out a light. It was like checking out of life, just for a handful of hours. It was amazing, not to feel.

- - - - -

When she woke up, it was around four in the afternoon, and she had the uncomfortable sensation one gets when one seriously plays with their sleeping schedule. She pulled the sleeping mask from her eyes – it had done a number on her hair, not like she cared – and winced at the bright late autumn light.

By habit, she turned her phone on – bad idea. Her eyebrows raised when she saw she had 18 missed calls and three messages; all but one from Miroku.

'I should block his number,' she thought, but knew instantly that she wouldn't be able to.

She began to cry when she realized that she wouldn't be able not to listen to his messages. Hearing his voice – even recorded – tore through her very being.

In the first message, he clearly was still ignorant of the new development in his professional life.

"Sango? Why aren't you picking up your phone? I need help picking out an outfit for tomorrow. You must've misplaced your phone or something… anyway, as soon as you get this, call me back." Click.

"Ok, Sango, I'm getting worried. You're not hurt, are you? Though you did have a lot to drink last night… you must be really hung over. Well, whenever you wake up, I still need your help." Click.

The last message was from around 2:15. The tears fell hot and fast down her cheeks – he had to have been told by then.

"Sango. I… I don't know what to say. Please, call me back? Whatever happened… we can fix it. I promise."

Click.

She broke down completely. The old Miroku… the last message was him. Sensitive and quiet and so perfect in every unbelievable way.

She didn't know how long she cried, but by the time she stopped, she had already decided to take another dose of sleeping pills. It wasn't the kind of day she wanted to live through.

- - - - - -

A week had passed, and Sango was beginning to regret quitting her job. Not because she missed Miroku, or even the work itself, but because it was infinitely more depressing to sit at home all day and do nothing than to force herself to work with the man she was madly in love with.

On top of her depression, she was beginning to develop a temper. Her apartment was impeccably clean – all her chores done with an almost rabid vengeance – and she had taken to going on long runs to pass the time.

On her eighth day of unemployment, Sango broke down and gone to the bookstore. After spending several hours there (for any time spent away from home was blissful), she came home with a large sack full of the classics. It helped, to have goals, tasks, to complete. The harder the texts – Descartes, for example – the better it felt to force herself through them.

Miroku had called every single day. She never picked up, and he never left a message. Still, she feared the day when he didn't.

On her first free Sunday, he had come by. He had knocked on her door for upwards of forty-five minutes, nearly begging her to just come speak to him. Sango, for her part, though, had merely pretended she was out while she sat on the floor and held herself tightly until he finally gave up.

Two weeks in, Sango received a call. Thinking it was Miroku – he was the only person who really called – she merely glanced at her phone, only to see a number, not a name, and not one she recognized.

Curious, and hoping it wasn't – it was? – Miroku on a different phone, she breathlessly answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Sango Taijiya?"

"Yes, this is she."

"Hello, yes, I'm calling on behalf of Kagome Higurashi. She wanted to request that you come in for an interview tomorrow."

"An interview?" there was a spark of something like hope in her chest.

"Yes, she had heard you were recently unemployed. You have quite the reputation as an excellent manager."

"I… thank you. I'd like to come for the interview. When is it?"

"9 am tomorrow, room 412 at the downtown branch of Jidai Recording Studio. Don't be late. She won't like that."

"I won't. Thank you."

"Thank you, Miss Taijiya."

She pushed the 'end' button on her phone, and for the first time in weeks – maybe even months – a true smile broke out on her face. This _felt_ right. It felt like destiny. She might be in love with Miroku – she might never fall out of love with him – but that didn't mean her life was over.

On the contrary, it looked like it was just beginning. A new beginning.

- - - - -

A/N: Oh, I know you're all gonna come to get me now. Just keep in mind – it's not the end yet!

Also, for those of you who have reviewed this story before…

You all really make it worth writing. I love every single review I get. I wish I could respond to them all – though I'm going to start trying. I love my story and I really love that you all get so into it, too. I hope it continues to please you (though this chapter may not…). I'm just very appreciative. Thank you so much for your kind support.

And if you read and don't review… please review!


	8. Chapter 8

Head Over Feet

Chapter Eight

By Seabreeze

A/N: Alright, so I'm going to crank the rest of this story out pretty quickly…

Disclaimer: See previous chapter.

- - - - -

Kagome Higurashi was not the kind of star you wanted to work with. She had a reputation for being controlling, bossy, demanding, and unstable – or, as was more common, a psychotic bitch.

She was perfect.

Sango had heard stories of Kagome's extreme awfulness. Early on in her career, she had dosed her assistant in hot coffee, and the poor girl had gotten third degree burns all over her face and neck. The whispers about working with her were true horror stories – rooms had to be exactly 72 degrees, or she would refuse to enter. She only drank chilled mountain water served in Irish crystal glasses. And so on.

For all her wretchedness, the woman single-handedly provided a huge amount of drama and entertainment for the tabloids and readers of gossip magazines.

And Sango was ready for it. Anyone she couldn't fall in love with would be an absolute blessing to work with. Sango would cheerfully take all the verbal abuse, all the boiling coffee, and all the hissy fits in the world, if it meant feeling no unrequited love ever again.

She put on her best work suit – a deep navy pencil skirt and jacket, crisp white blouse, and her classic, intensely comfortable, 1920's style pumps. She left her hair down and kept it out of her eyes with a simple headband.

She arrived at the downtown location of the recording studio at 8:30 – she had always been excellent about arriving early. She didn't mind waiting – she'd brought a book, Brockdon Brown's Wieland – and it looked good.

"Will you let Miss Higurashi's staff know that Sango Taijiya has arrived?" she asked the receptionist. The woman gave her a wry smile.

"Of course," she replied. Sango took her seat, and at 8:55, was called into the conference room.

To her surprise, one miss Kagome Higurashi was seated at the head of the table. She tried not to show her surprise, reminding herself that Kagome was known to be a control freak, so it really wasn't so surprising, after all.

"Welcome, Miss Taijiya," said an older looking woman to Kagome's right. She motioned to the chair across from her. "Please, sit down."

Sango did, noticing a disgruntled looking (yet still attractive) bodyguard in the corner. She gave him a slight nod, and he scoffed silently.

Pleasant.

"I am Mrs. Fujiyama, and this, of course, is my client, Miss Higurashi. Miss Higurashi, Miss Taijiya."

"And this is my head bodyguard, Inuyasha," Kagome said, her huge brown eyes sparkling and her voice friendly as she motioned to the disgruntled, silver-haired bodyguard. Sango tried not to stare.

"It's nice to meet you all." She said, smiling formally at each of them.

"We're glad to have you, Miss Taijiya."

"Sango, please."

"Sango. Honestly, I'm surprised you seemed so eager to take us up on our offer. Miss Kagome has… quite the reputation."

Now her curiosity was piqued – the supposedly volatile young singer sat benignly beside her, smiling and seemingly content with life.

"I must admit I'm a little confused," Sango said, addressing Kagome.

"Not what you were expecting?" Kagome asked knowingly.

"Well, no, to be honest."

"Kagome's more… objectionable image is exactly that. An image." Mrs. Fujiyama interjected.

"Drama sells," Kagome added, giving Sango a warm grin. "I'm just glad they chose Diva over Drug Addict."

"That is fortunate," Sango admitted, willing her eyebrows to lower out of their position of surprise.

"Here's the thing, Sango. You're practically a managing legend – you brought Miroku from obscurity to stardom. Now that you're on the market, you're basically the big catch. We wanted to snatch you up before anyone else got the chance." Mrs. Fujiyama said. Kagome nodded.

"The only catch is that we can't offer you a managing position. That belongs to Mrs. Fujiyama." Kagome added.

"So what are you offering me?" Sango asked, puzzled. The two women exchanged looks.

"Well, to be honest, Sango, it would be a fairly big step down for you. We understand this, and would be willing to offer you substantially more than anyone else would be offered for this job. Additionally, if a better position opened up in the near future, you would be first in line to get it."

Sango stared blankly at them, waiting for someone to fill her in.

"You would essentially be my assistant," Kagome said, sounding a little ashamed. "You would run errands for me, keep me supplied with coffee and chill mountain water – " she winked at Sango " – maintain my schedule, make sure my makeup and hair were in working order, put up with the occasional hissy fit I'm supposed to throw…"

Sango stopped paying attention. It wasn't exactly a dream job, and if the tabloids got a hold of the information, well… Kagome's image would stay in tact, and HE might come off looking a little worse for the wear. Still, though, it was a job… a distraction… one that had nothing to do with him. It was something she was more than capable of doing, and sure, the stress would be back…

…but it was better than doing nothing all the time. And it was a golden opportunity; one that came out of nowhere… it was fate.

"I accept," Sango said, realizing as she spoke that she had interrupted Kagome. All three of them – Kagome, Mrs. Fujiyama, and the bodyguard Inuyasha – stared at her.

"But… we haven't even given you your hours, or how much we'll pay…" Kagome said, eyebrows pulling downward in confusion.

"I don't really care," admitted Sango.

There was silence for a moment, and then Kagome suddenly grinned.

"Welcome on board!"

- - - - - -

Sango hugged her thin jacket to herself, cursing her decision to grab the light jacket over her heavier coat before heading out. She glanced up towards the stormy sky, but found it difficult to see through the trees of the graveyard. She scowled and continued up the path. Whether she could see the sky or not, she could tell it was going to rain – soon. She slowed as she approached the corner of the graveyard where her family was buried.

She stopped, crossing her arms and shivering as she bowed her head in prayer. After a few moments, she heard someone approaching on the path that led past her family's graves. She ignored the sound until the person stopped just behind her. Her prayers were forgotten as she heard soft breathing behind her, and yet she felt no fear. Arms wrapped around her torso – not at all shocking her – holding her tightly.

"Cold?" the familiar voice asked. Sango stiffened.

"I'm praying, Miroku."

"I know. But I've been trying to get a hold of you all week, and I'd really like to talk." He said. He sounded more sincere than he had in a long time, and his voice was unusually quiet. Sango relented despite a strong urge to tell him to leave her alone.

"Fine. Let me go." She said. Miroku acquiesced, and she turned to face him. His deeply violet eyes were grave – such a change from their usual light and sparkle that she felt almost uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry about the incident at the party." He began. Sango swallowed and pursed her lips, shrugging. He paused, waiting for more of a response from her. "Is that why you quit?" he asked after a moment. Sango felt a heavy lump form far too quickly within her throat.

"Look, Miroku, there was only so much of being your manager that I could take. It was eating away at my life, I had nothing else, and…" she trailed off, knowing that she was lying and that it was very obvious. Miroku said nothing in response, smiling sadly.

"I know, you know. I've read all the signs, if a little too late." He said, his voice dropping an octave or too as he took a step closer to her. Sango felt her heart skip a beat, a palpitation that left her feeling a little weak and confused.

"I…" she began, but struggled with what to say.

"I suppose I was blind to it. And then you quit, and suddenly I was realizing everything about you that I hadn't before. Like the fact that without you, I'd still be playing weddings and high school dances and living in a cardboard box of an apartment." He chuckled, and moved even closer, so that he whispered directly into her ear. "I miss you, Sango."

Once again, Sango tried to open her mouth and speak, but found that she couldn't.

"I… I can't," she finally choked out.

"Can't what," he asked huskily, stroking the nape of her neck and causing warmth to shoot down her spine. "Admit that you have feelings for me?"

Sango froze, completely unable to speak at this point.

"Say it," Miroku urged softly, moving his hands to the small of her back and pulling her gently towards himself.

"I don't – I'm not…"

"Say you're not in love with me." He coaxed, voice taking on a kind of masked urgency.

"I'm not… damnit, Miroku!" she cut herself off, shoving away from him. "What if I am?! What if I can't resist your stupid charms just like every other girl on the planet? _SO WHAT? _What's the big freakin' deal, Miroku? Its not like it even matters, because it's you and its _me,_ and God himself knows there's nothing about me that's enough for you! You can have any girl you want and the only reason you're paying any attention to me now is because, for the first time, you realized that I am out of your reach! So you tell me, what does it matter how I feel?!" she yelled, breathing heavily. She felt weak, empty like a vessel for emotions that rushed through her all at once and left her gasping for air.

Miroku stared at her for a moment, and then finally pulled her into a tight hug.

"It always mattered to me what you felt," he said, his admission gentle like his fingers on her back. "I hated it. There was too much of you. You were all around me, and I could hardly think. I wasn't ready for that. And for that, I didn't deserve you."

"Miroku, stop." Sango said, feeling panic rise in her stomach. "Stop it, now. I can't do this." Despite herself, she was trembling, and pushing him away, using her arms as leverage, but Miroku didn't let go.

"That's not very fair, Sango, is it?" he asked, voice deepening in a soothing manner. His eyes were the deepest shade of violet she had ever seen them. "You got to tell me how you felt, but I don't get to tell you?"

"I never _said – _"

"I love you."

"You…" She felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her completely.

"I love you," he repeated, peering into her face with such unabridged earnesty and… vulnerability, that she wondered briefly if she were in a dream or not. After a few moments of shock, she saw his face fall slightly and doubt filled his eyes. "You do… believe me, don't you?" he asked.

"I can't even… " She admitted dubiously. "No, no, I need to think." She pushed against him again, and this time his arms fell away easily. She didn't pause as she hurried away.

"Sango – "

But she had broken into a jog. Tears were falling, cold and fast, down her cheeks and to the ground that raced past. Her heart was beating at triple speed, and she could not decide what scared her more – the idea of running back to him, or the idea of never turning back.

- - - - - -

A/N: Angsty fluff! Angsty fluff! There you go!

As always, please review.


	9. Chapter 9

Head Over Feet

Chapter Nine

By Seabreeze

A/N: I like how I told y'all the rest of the story would come quickly, and then my inspiration died…. Well, here we go again. I apologize for the long wait, truly. This chapter is kind of a filler chapter, which I always hate.

Update! Chapter 10 is already done, and should be posted a week or so after this chapter (to encourage reviews ;) )

For the Soundtrack for this chapter, scroll to the bottom of the story.

Disclaimer: see previous chapter.

- - - - - -

Working as Kagome's personal assistant turned out to be more interesting than Sango had expected. Sure, she had to put up with Kagome's ridiculous behavior whenever anyone else was around, but it was fun to be in on the secret. Kagome was such a good actress that it wasn't hard to act offended – Sango almost believed Kagome was mad at her for grabbing the wrong clipboard after Kagome ripped it out of her hands and tossed it across the room, declaring Sango "an incompetent moron".

The stunt had certainly worked wonders on the people who had seen it – as Sango hurried, head down, through the throng of people to retrieve the clipboard, she saw enough looks of disgust and pity to validate Kagome's acting ability.

Sango had come on board at a convenient time for Kagome and all those working for her – her manager was negotiating a tour. Sango had, without question, agreed to accompany Kagome on tour – what better way to get away from life than to tour the world with a psychotic pop star? – and was quite looking forwards to it. The tour would most likely be international – you weren't a big star, Kagome told her, until you'd toured Europe a few times. Considering Kagome had only performed in the country, it was a big step, but one that was ripe for the taking.

When she was at home, Sango spent her time cleaning all the clothes she would want to bring on tour. She was excited – she'd never left the country before. The possibility that awaited in foreign venues fizzed in her veins – she just knew she'd come back an entirely new person. A brand, shining new Sango, ready to take on the world.

About three weeks into the job, Miss Fujiyama was closing in on a deal. Tour stops and an opening act were being discussed, and Sango and Kagome, who had become something like sisters, could hardly contain their excitement.

It was another perk of working for Kagome – she had not expected to get a friend out of the deal. Contrary to her public persona, Kagome was sweet and humble, always offering help or advice whenever possible. Though there wasn't much down time in the business, they had even hung out a few times outside of work. Kagome was an even bigger shopper than Sango was, and the way she did it – like money was hardly an object at all – made it all the more appealing to Sango.

Of course, with Kagome, that meant that a day of shopping was followed by a day of weeding out old outfits to donate to charity.

It was all honestly more than Sango could've dreamed of. She hadn't thought about anything unpleasant in almost a week. She was too busy – being busy, having stuff thrown at her, taking Kagome's ridiculous orders, being excited with Kagome about the tour, hanging out with Kagome, doing her actual work…

Because Miss Fujiyama was so busy negotiating Kagome's tour, Sango took on many of her responsibilities for the time being. She accompanied Kagome to a photo shoot and interview for a popular teen magazine, and they had fun picking out her wardrobe on set – fun for Sango, because she got to handle and put together such unusual and fashionable outfits, and fun for Kagome, because half the time she yelled at Sango for her "bad taste".

The photo shoot went without a hitch. Sango watched the images appear on the photographer's computer as he took them – Kagome was a natural. It wasn't fair, Sango reflected, that Kagome was already an established singer and dancer, when she was also obviously a phenomenal actress, and on top of that, she could model.

The interview, however, was the most fun for both of them. Kagome did such an amazing job of coming off as fakely sweet – the interviewer believed, Sango knew, every single awful rumor she'd heard about Kagome, as much as Kagome laughed and smiled.

"No, I'm not dating anyone," Kagome giggled, giving the tiniest roll of her eyes. "I don't have time for boys."

The interviewer raised an eyebrow and scribbled down Kagome's response. Later in the interview, totally unprompted, Kagome sprang into a long account of how charitable she was.

"I donate all my old clothes. It's nice to know that, because of my contributions, more people can learn about style," Kagome said with such earnesty that Sango had to suppress a giggle.

After the interview, Inuyasha, who trailed Kagome everywhere she went, seemed annoyed.

"What's bugging you today, Inuyasha?" Kagome asked from her seat across from him in the limo.

"Nothing," Inuyasha snapped.

"Oh, come on, Inuyasha, you've been scowling all afternoon," Sango said.

"Of course, he's always scowling," Kagome intoned, and Sango snorted. Inuyasha's sharp ears flicked towards them and away – he had heard, though Kagome had intended him to.

"Feh. Fine. I don't see why you have to play up the dumb bitch stereotype." He crossed his arms across his chest.

"Inuyasha," Kagome said, exasperated. "It's all for my image. If I'm a psycho diva, people want to know about me. If they want to know about me, they're more likely to buy my albums or tickets for my concerts."

"So you're pretending to be something you're not… for money." Inuyasha retorted.

"It's called acting," Kagome replied coolly.

"But you're not an actress!" Inuyasha exploded.

"That's debatable," Sango muttered.

"Look, Inuyasha, it's just a business tactic. Lots of singers do it."

"And what about the real musicians, who let their music sell itself?" he snarled.

"Are you saying I'm not a musician? Inuyasha, I'm hurt!" Kagome was teasing him, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Whatever," he sneered, turning his head to look out the window.

The girls exchanged a look, and promptly began discussing costume options for the tour.

- - - - - - - - - - -

On one of Kagome's days off, Miss Fujiyama sent Sango to different designers in the area to check out their work (she had her digital camera in her bag) and report back. Sango, who was well-recognized as Kagome's assistant for those hoping to gain Kagome as a client, would mention a need for a costume designer for Kagome's tour, and the designers (so Miss Fujiyama explained to her) would fall all over themselves offering to do it. Sango would return with the work the designers showed to her documented on film, and Miss Fujiyama would make a decision from there as to which lucky designer would put together all the costumes for Kagome's entire tour.

The designers themselves were was different as their lines – the bubbly older woman who's shop was filled with bright pinks, blues, greens, and purples was an utter contrast to the dark, silent, and snotty 23 year old designer whose clothes were mostly grey and black. All, as Miss Fujiyama had assured her, went out of their way to explain why their particular line was perfect for Kagome's tour – "superior stitching!" "made right here in this shop, by me!".

Personally, Sango felt that a combination of designers would make for the best wardrobe, but that was not her job. She returned to the agency Miss Fujiyama worked from with a headache from spending all day in stores with blaring, fashionable punk-rock music and a digital camera with a memory card full of unique fashion.

Just as she was making her way into the building, her cell phone rang – it was Kagome.

"Hey, Kags," Sango said, cradling the phone between her shoulder and her head as she pulled the front doors open.

"Sango, thank goodness I caught you!"

"What, what's wrong? You're all out of breath." Sango frowned, making her way through the lobby.

"A deal was struck. For the tour." Kagome panted.

"A deal? Really?! What do you know, Kagome?" Sango demanded.

"Oh, Sango… I mean, strategically, it's a great tour – "

"Is it international? What are the major stops?" Sango cut in, unable to stop herself.

"Yes," Kagome said, sounding hesitant. "It will mainly be a European tour, with two stops in Australia, but Sango, what I need to tell you …"

At that moment, Sango turned a corner and, in her excitement and concentration on the phone conversation she was having, walked smack into someone else.

"Oh, I'm sorry…" she trailed off, blood draining from her face.

Miroku looked down at her, his own face oddly passive.

"Sango, are you listening?" Kagome demanded in her ear, as she continued to stare dumbly up at her former client. "The tour is a joint one with Miroku."

- - -

A/N: Dun dun dun. Uh, sorta.

Yay, the last filler chapter is done! We're close to the finish line, now that our romantic leads are (unwillingly) back together.

Please review! I look forward to hearing your comments!

Soundtrack:

Kagome's music is (in my head) something like 2 parts the Veronicas, one part Katy Perry, and one part Britney Spears (whoop!). Sassy and bratty and sexy.

Popular – Veronicas

Everything – Veronicas

Please review! I look forward to hearing your comments!


	10. Chapter 10

Head Over Feet

Chapter Ten

By Seabreeze

A/N: Hopefully I will get this chapter out a little faster than I got the last one out. Thanks for reading and for your feedback!

Disclaimer: see previous chapter.

- - - - - -

"Hello, Sango." Miroku said quietly.

"Hi." Sango replied, her voice higher than usual. "Yeah, Kagome. I figured. Thanks, gotta go."

"Wait, what do – " Kagome started, but Sango hung up, feeling a twinge of regret for shutting off her friend.

"So, you work for Kagome now." Miroku said in the same quiet voice.

"Yeah…" Sango said, unable to formulate much else in her head.

"Kind of a step down from manager to assistant, isn't it?"

The question had not been insulting, but strangely, Sango felt anger well up inside her.

"It pays better," she spat, wishing she had the strength to walk away again.

"Not as fulfilling, though, is it?" Miroku asked casually, as if Sango had not just snapped at him.

"Maybe not, but at least Kagome treats me like a friend." Sango said, feeling hardness in her chest and stomach. The surprised look on Miroku's face – as controlled as it was – told her she had hit her mark.

"I tried – " Miroku began, desperation edging his tone.

"You failed." Sango cut across him. "Excuse me, I have a meeting with my boss." She flew past him.

"This is fate, Sango." Miroku called after her, surprising her enough that she stopped and almost turned around. "And I'm not giving up. I'll see you around." She could tell by his voice that he was smiling, and the thought made her burn.

_Whatever, Miroku._

- - - - - -

"You ran into him?!" Kagome demanded later that night as Sango helped her back her personal bags for the tour, which was to begin in a few weeks' time. It turned out that Miss Fujiyama had been in talks with Miroku's agency for quite a while, and things had just recently fallen into place.

"Yeah," Sango said, folding a green tank top and dropping it into the nearly-empty suitcase. "Right before you told me the tour was joined with his."

"Oh my gosh, how unlucky!" Kagome exclaimed as she dug through one of her drawers for her favorite pair of sweat pants.

"Tell me about it." Sango agreed. "Kagome… how did you know?"

"How did I know what?"

"That I'd be upset by the tour news."

"Oh…" Kagome said, turning to face her friend. "Well, it was mostly just… just a vibe I got, Sango. You were so eager to take the job with me and you just seemed… hurt. I don't know how to explain it. Like the job as Miroku's manager took a lot from you. I don't know why, but I thought it might be rude to ask."

Sango reflected on this – she regretted now not watching herself more closely, to ensure that no one else knew about her biggest secret. It was uncomfortable to realize she had been more transparent than she knew. She was so lost in her thoughts, that it was a long time before she heard Kagome clear her throat.

"Um… Sango, do you mind if I ask what happened?"

Sango's head snapped up, and she looked at Kagome, for a minute contemplating.

"No," she said slowly. "I was in love with him."

Kagome gasped, then; "Was?"

How sharp she was! Sango tried to ignore the panic rising up in her throat.

"Was," she confirmed, thought she couldn't quite meet Kagome's gaze. "For a long time. From the moment I met him, I guess."

"And he didn't love you back," Kagome whispered.

"No," Sango said. "I don't think so, anyway. Fame made him an entirely different person. I don't think that person could reciprocate the feelings I had."

It was quiet as Sango started on Kagome's t-shirts.

"If I had known…" Kagome began, sounding helpless.

"You know you don't have control over your tour, Kagome," Sango reminded her. "Besides, maybe he's right. Maybe this is fate. Maybe…" she sighed. "Maybe I'll start seeing him for the jerk he is. Finally."

"And you're sure he doesn't return your feelings?" Kagome prodded.

"I don't know," Sango answered, hiding her irritation. "But I'm done with all of that. I'm working for you and we're touring Europe, and who knows what life holds for me now?"

Kagome watched her for a moment, and then clapped her hands together.

"That's the spirit!"

- - - - - -

The only hard part of being on tour with Miroku, it turned out, was having to watch him perform. Sango was so busy the rest of the time – as Kagome's assistant, she was basically the fill-in girl. She had helped the roadies unload the giant vans; she had helped the sound board people during the sound check; she had worked out leg cramps of back up dancers…the major downside with being so busy, however, was she hardly got to see the grand foreign cities they visited. Kagome made a point of pulling Sango out of whatever job she was doing, at least once in each city, to demand that Sango "go shopping" with her. They ate at famous restaurants and went sight seeing, and in fact did a little shopping.

With her new paycheck, Sango could almost keep up with Kagome's spending habits – they bought matching pearl rings at one of Paris's most famous jewelry stores, and spent almost an entire afternoon at Harrod's in London.

Sango had the idea that Kagome was going out of her way to keep herself and Sango out of Miroku's way – although she was entirely pleasant when they did bump into each other.

While Kagome was onstage, though, and there was not much for Sango to do, it was hard to avoid him. He would always seem to appear at her shoulder, cracking a joke and scaring her half to death. As creative as Sango was at avoiding him, she could not seem to lose him for longer than 15 minutes.

What was almost worse was the flowers left for her in Kagome's dressing room at the end of every performance. Each bouquet had a different set of flowers; those native to whichever country they were in. In Paris, it was white lilies. In Madrid, it was carnations. With each bouquet was a card with a lyric or two of his own inside – some she was familiar with, and some she was not.

_She's so close_

_And a million miles away_

_She's right here_

_Distanced by a day_

_---  
_

_How lovely when she smiles…_

_---  
_

_And I cannot get her out of my mind_

_I run, but she's never far behind_

_---  
_

_This rose blooms_

_But the blossom I'll never see_

_You are the blood in my veins_

_The sight in my eyes_

It was impossible to hide the flowers from Kagome, who was clearly containing squeals of pleasure at Miroku's grandly and culturally romantic gestures. The flowers – and especially the notes – made Sango feel queasy. For one thing, she had never been the kind of girl to be swept off her feet. For another, the thought of Miroku all together was an unsettling one. She couldn't bear to keep the flowers in her own room (shared with Kagome), though neither could she truly throw them out. Kagome had the brilliant idea to give them out to the hardcore fans as the tour was packing up to head off to their next destination, and so in that way, Miroku's flowers were respected, but never loved.

- - - - - -

On one particularly hectic evening in Amsterdam, after Kagome's portion of the concert had finished, a member of Mirkou's tour party had come tearing into Kagome's dressing room, begging for Sango's help.

"Please, Miss Sango, I know you're technically done for the night, but Miroku's assistant just called in sick! We rely on him so much, everyone's in a panic!"

This was clearly the truth – panic was practically rolling off the roadie – but Sango was instantly suspicious.

Still, she couldn't turn down this poor man. She gave Kagome a dark look and then nodded at the man.

"Of course, how can I help?"

- - - - - -

It was not ten minutes in to helping out Miroku that Sango was no longer suspicious this was a plot.

She _knew_ it was a plot.

Miroku's assistant, a good-humored drunk named Mushin, apparently did a lot of things for Miroku that Sango had never been asked to do for Kagome.

Things like spritz his bare chest with water to make him glisten on stage.

Things like combing his hair.

Things like massaging his temples to relax him in between sets.

She had done it all without (much) complaint, though the insensitivity of it all was more and more astounding to her as the night went on. He knew – he knew! – she was in love with him, or had been at some point not too long ago. He was teasing her, egging her on… making fun of her. She held her tongue, however, until they were left almost completely alone in his dressing room, where Sango had been instructed to button a shirt up while Miroku "rested" before his final set.

Miroku was conveniently bare beneath the shirt.

"What the hell are you doing, Miroku?" She hissed after her fourth button, the rage making her feel light-headed even as she worked.

"Mushin called in sick, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Oh, right!" Sango snarled. "And how much did you pay him to 'call in sick'?"

"Sango, I'm hurt," Miroku said, his face the picture of solemnity. "How you could even suggest – "

"Oh, cut the crap, 'cause I'm not buying it. I never did," she snapped. Beneath her hands his chest rumbled once, though when she glared up at him, his face was unchanged.

"I'm insulted," she continued. "How long have you known me? You think seeing you half-naked is going to make me give in? Do you _really_ think your body is that good, Miroku? Flash some pecs, and I'll succumb to your wishes?" she was babbling, which could happen when she went into a rage. He was grinning now, a soft thing that confused her and made her stomach a little uneasy.

"So it's not working, then?" he asked so quietly that she barely heard him.

"No!" she retorted, taking a break from buttoning his shirt to thump him on the chest. "And stop sending me flowers!"

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" he asked, watching her face intently.

"They're _flowers_." Sango sneered.

"I handpick them all from the flower shops," Miroku added. Sango pursed her lips.

"Look, Miroku… you can prance into my room naked carrying all the most beautiful flowers in the world you picked from your own, self-grown garden, and it's not going to change anything."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying give up." It was harder to say than it should've been. She finished the top button, right at the base of his throat.

"Alright," Miroku agreed, his voice heavy in a way that made her heart flutter. "No more flowers."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Can I go now?"

"Sure. Just one last thing before you do."

"What?" Sango asked, wondering what on earth he could ask of her now, other than to clean up his dressing room, which was a bit of a mess. She would refuse, of course.

"Come here."

It was an odd request, and his eyes were funny in a way that told her nothing. Sango skipped a beat in the conversation.

"I am here," she blinked.

"Closer." The depth in his voice and eyes was hypnotizing, though as she stepped forwards, she asked;

"Why?"

Her feet kept moving until he could reach out and touch her, which he did.

"Please, Sango," he said, taking her wrists in his hands. "Open your eyes against the fear and see how it could be."

Before she could work out what that meant, exactly, he had pulled her close, and he was kissing her.

The contact, his lips on hers, shot electricity down her body, shocking and painful and exhilarating.

Her heart raced as she realized that this was the moment she'd been waiting on for _years_ but thought would never come, and the softness and gentleness of his kiss coaxed her eyes closed. For long moments she just _felt_: butterflies in her stomach, a haze in her head, and an angel on her lips.

He pulled away before she was ready, and lips warmed by her own brushed her ear:

"Think on it, love,"

- -- -

A/N: Read and review, kids 

The next chapter I haven't even begun yet, but it should nonetheless be out in a timely manner. It's kind of the chapter that inspired the whole story. So, look forwards to that :)


	11. Chapter 11

Head Over Feet

Chapter Eleven

By Seabreeze

A/N: So this will be the effective end of the story. Of course I will follow up with a epilogue, but this is pretty much the end. I can't believe I finally got here. This story has been in the works for over four years. Holy cow.

I'm not sure if the story turned out as good as I wanted it to, but I've definitely enjoyed writing it, and I really hope you enjoyed reading it.

Also, I'd really love to break 100 reviews for this story, so if you're one of those readers who doesn't leave a review, just do it!

Finally, sorry this took so long. Life got hard. Real hard. And then I got distracted. Real distracted.

Disclaimer: see previous chapter.

It had been a long week.

Sango's kiss with Miroku only served to further confuse her, and she doubled her efforts to avoid him. For the most part, Miroku had kept his promise – giving up, leaving her alone.

Kagome was disappointed that Sango no longer received flowers with poetry, and Sango herself was very secretly missing having him around all the time, even if it had gotten annoying.

Despite herself, Sango was doing exactly as Miroku had told her to after their kiss – she thought about it. About the kiss, about him, about the suddenly real possibility of actually being with Miroku after all this time. It was infuriating.

…and yet inescapable.

When she was honest with herself, Sango knew she was still in love with him. Some part of her feared that she would always be; that it wasn't something she could ever get over or recover from.

When she passed him backstage, or when everyone went out, he would simply smile at her. Like a little girl, she would blush and look away.

It _was_ infuriating!

With one kiss and four little words, he was inside her head. Permanently. Questioning everything she did and every thought that crossed her mind.

It made her so angry that, after a few days, she began returning his soft smiles with furious glares.

It didn't take Kagome very long to figure out that something was up.

"Sango? Did anything happen with Miroku? The two of you have been acting so strange in the past week or so – he barely even acknowledges you any more, and you seem a lot angrier than usual."

Sango sighed, finding herself more irritated with her friend than she was comfortable with.

"I got him to back off. Not without waging psychological warfare, though." Sango said, thinking that straight and to the point was best. "It's fine," she added upon seeing Kagome's concerned face. "Do you want some coffee? I'm going to go make some coffee."

She got up before Kagome could argue, relieved when she was out of the room – and out from under Kagome's scrutiny.

She couldn't tell Kagome the truth – not all of it – because she knew exactly how the pop star would react:

'Give him a chance, Sango, there's obviously something there!'

And there was. Certainly on her side, as much as she hated to admit it.

It was just hard to tell… did he want her because he truly loved her, or because she had taken herself out of his grasp? Because she was suddenly unattainable, after all those years…

Sango shook her head, scowling. She had thought about it enough already for a lifetime…

In Nice, France, the tour was doing two performances in a three-day period. This meant (to Kagome's joy) an extended "vacation" time – almost an entire day – to visit the city.

"Oh," she said, twirling like a child in a bright yellow sundress. "It's nothing like Paris at all," she was beaming, the French sun warming her cheeks. Beside her, Inuyasha narrowed his eyes in irritation, but could not seem to take his eyes off her. Sango laughed.

"Of course not, Kagome," she said, taking her friends' arm. "Come on, you haven't even spent any money yet. Let's go."

And they were off, giggling and enjoying the cool, sunny day, the sales, and the company (though Inuyasha admittedly wasn't much as company).

It was late afternoon when Kagome's cell rang. She was in the process of trying to force Inuyasha to try on strange looking tourist sunglasses when it happened.

"Hello?" she asked, still grinning at Inuyasha's scowl as Sango laughed in the background. The voice on the other end spoke, and Kagome's brow immediately furrowed. She listened, and then glanced at Sango quickly.

"Well, I suppose, but…"

The voice chattered on, sounding serious.

"I don't know if I can, it's not really fair to ask me." She looked at Sango and Inuyasha and frowned. "It's my day off."

"Listen, Kagome!" the voice on the phone said. Sango and Inuyasha exchanged glances – it didn't sound like Miss Fujiyama. After awhile, Kagome walked away, distancing herself from her friends.

"This better work!" she whispered angrily into the phone. "So help me if it doesn't!"

Finally, she sighed.

"Yes, alright. We'll be there." Kagome snapped her phone shut and made for her friends – or staff, as it were.

"They need us to come into the stadium tonight," she said, sounding irritated. "Something about light and sound coordination…"

"What do they need you for?" Sango and Inuyasha asked in unison, and then looked at each other, annoyed.

"For my songs and my mike, I guess," Kagome said. "They're making Miroku come in, too."

Sango felt her stomach drop – today was to have been a Miroku-free day. A worry-free day.

"Well, we have two hours before we need to head out." Kagome said. "Let's enjoy them!"

That night was not particularly horrible; it was truthfully just like any other rehearsal. Thankfully, it was shorter. They would run through certain parts of all of Kagome's songs, and within an hour, she was finished.

Just as Kagome, Sango, and Inuyasha were ready to head to the hotel, the same roadie that had asked Sango for help days earlier rushed to stop them.

"I'm sorry to bother you again," he began apologetically. Sango frowned.

"What, is Miroku's assistant 'sick' again?" she asked dully.

"No, it's not that…" the roadie said, looking sheepish. "We just need to borrow someone for fifteen minutes. We need to check the spotlight."

Sango sighed – obviously it would be her. Kagome needed her sleep, and Inuyasha needed to be with her at all times.

"Yeah, okay," she said. "You two go on to the hotel. It's late, and you need your sleep." She told her friends.

"Are you sure?" Kagome asked slowly. "It's only fifteen minutes. We can wait."

"Yeah, go sleep." Sango said. "You know how these things go – 15 minutes will turn into 45…" she was already following the roadie away. "Goodnight! See you tomorrow."

The roadie led her directly out onto the huge stage, which was all but pitch black.

"Wait here," he said. "Don't move. They'll turn on the lights in a minute and tell you what they need you to do."

"Alright," Sango said, squinting to watch his figure retreat. "Thanks."

She stood, feeling stupid, in almost total darkness – she could almost make out the scope of the theatre, she thought, the outlines of the lights encircling the top of the amphitheatre. Still, though, she couldn't see a foot in front of her for the darkness that swallowed her whole. So she waited, still.

Suddenly, a loud, heavy thunk rang through the empty theatre, and a blinding white light shone several feet from Sango. Instinctively, she covered her eyes.

"Sorry," a voice floated out from all around – she was momentarily spooked, before she realized the spotlight guy must have set himself up on the speakers. "Once your eyes adjust, do you mind stepping into the spotlight? You can yell up to me if you need to say anything – the echo should carry your voice pretty far."

"Okay!" Sango shouted, feeling stupider than ever, yelling into a big empty space. She gave her eyes a moment, and then stepped into the spotlight as she had been asked. To her surprise, it was hot there – though she shouldn't have been too shocked, after all. The light would need to be pretty powerful to shine so brightly from so far away.

"Great, thanks," the voice said. "Now, if you don't mind, just walk to the other side of the stage."

Sango nodded – not wanting to shout at an invisible person again – and began to move for the other side of the stage. The spotlight followed her movement smoothly, always staying perfectly centered on her. She began to sweat, and felt suddenly glad that she had put on deodorant that morning. She stopped when she reached the other side, and waited for more orders.

"Good, thank you, okay." The voice said, and she heard the clicking noise of someone typing on a computer in the background. "Now there's a stool just a little left of center downstage – that's the front of the stage – you can hang out there while I get this next light set up."

Sango nodded again and did as she was asked. When she reached the stool, she received no more orders, so after a minute or so she took a seat on the stool and waited.

What could he possible be doing, she wondered to herself. It wasn't like it took a lot of intelligence to keep a light trained on a single, unmoving spot…

Suddenly, with another loud thunk, the spotlight went out. Sango spooked a little and grabbed the edges of the stool, expecting an apology from the man in the light booth. None came.

"Hello?" she called out tentatively, feeling somewhat nervous. It was a fairly old amphitheatre, after all, and though she wasn't all that superstitious, she couldn't even see her own hand before her eyes…

Somewhere near the audience – or the orchestra pit, she figured – the sound of a piano. It was a tune she knew, something familiar, but…

Just as realization hit her, the spotlight clicked heavily back on, but this time it wasn't aimed at her – it was aimed at the other side of the stage. In its blinding glory stood Miroku, microphone in hand.

Sango's heart skipped a beat, and she could only gaze at him.

In dark jeans and a deep violet collared shirt rolled up at the sleeves, he looked like a god masquerading as a mortal, but that wasn't why she couldn't take her eyes off of him.

There was something about him tonight, him and the song…

It wasn't a song that had ever made it onto an album, mostly because Miroku constantly argued that it was a work in progress. Still, it was one of Sango's favorites; slow and jazzy and intimate. She had only ever heard it during recording sessions – Miroku sang it when he was stressed or stuck with another song, and it always seemed to calm him and clear his head.

He was making his way towards her slowly, humming along with the piano.

Sango felt trapped, almost, and a shiver ran down her spine.

She had always loved this song the most because, very secretly, she liked to pretend he was singing it to her. And now, he was looking at her with such intensity, and he was going to sing it just for her – there was no one else around… could this really be happening?

Miroku opened his mouth and began singing, voice taking flight with the words that were always evolving, and always loved… Sango felt her face burn. It was happening. It was real, or she was insane.

He caught her eye as his voice soared so smoothly over the arcing and diving words, holding it, making her flush even more. For the life of her, she could not look away, couldn't do anything but stare at him helplessly. He bent to one knee before her.

"…I've lived out my life in stages

with ten million people watching

but we're alone now,

and I'm singing my song for you."

He looked so sincere – he _was_ so sincere, Sango knew it in her bones – she had seen him acting, seen him deliver lines with Oscar worthy skill to pretty girls… but not until tonight had she seen him so naked behind his eyes. She felt tears well in her own eyes and tilted her head back just slightly to encourage them not to fall. Miroku still held her gaze, and sang on…

"I've treated you unkindly

but can't you see?

There's no one more important to me

So darling, can't you please see through me?"

Her eyes had overflowed, hot streams cascading down her cheeks… it was her wildest dream come true. This song truly was hers and hers alone. All those years she secretly loved him; all those years he had – perhaps even more secretly – loved her back.

"when my life is over

I will remember when we were together

We were alone and I was singing my song…

For you."

As he sang the last words he reached a hand out to her, but she was too busy trying to repress her sobs with her hands to take it. The piano played on, finishing the last strains of the song as they stared at each other.

Miroku was finally himself, the old Miroku, and he loved her. Sango wiped her tears, knowing she looked like a hot mess in the most surreal, romantic moment of her life.

"I love you," she choked. "I hate myself for it, but I always have." She burst into sobs again and buried her face in her hands. Miroku gathered her in his arms and pulled her into his chest, laying his cheek on her head.

"I love you." He said simply. "You're the only constant. You loved me at my best, and when I least deserved it."

"What do you want from me?" she asked into his chest after a moment, sounding miserable. "You are many things, Miroku, but a one-woman man is not one of them. I can't… I can't be that girl. Just loving you breaks my heart. I can't do it." Despite her words, she pressed herself further into him.

"I can't expect you to trust me," he said softly, stroking her hair. "That wouldn't be fair. But I can promise to try. I need a change, Sango, this person… this person isn't me. The stage has made me into someone else, someone shallow and vain and… and someone who would hurt the one he loves."

"You can't quit music," Sango sniffed automatically. Years as his manager could not seem to leave her.

"Maybe not," Miroku said, laughing a little. "but I can quit celebrity. No more concerts, or album signings, or interviews, or photo shoots, or guest appearances. People can have my music, but that's it anymore."

"You sound ridiculous." She informed him, lifting an arm underneath his to wipe her tears from her face.

"Do you have a better plan?" he teased softly, pulling away enough to cup her teary face in his hands.

"I'm not your mother, and I'm not your manager," she said, grinning. "You do what you think is best. And I love you, but the moment I think you're going to cheat on me, I'm gone... _after_ I kick your ass." Miroku grinned back.

"Sounds fair," he said. "Now what happens if I think you're messing around…?"

"You can kiss mine," Sango suggested, and Miroku laughed loudly, and kissed her fiercely. Again she felt lightning struck, and before she knew it the kiss was over and he was laying his forehead against her own.

"I'd be a fool to cheat on you," he said, his voice smoky and light. "You're the perfect woman for me. I'm so lucky to have even ever met you."

"You can use all the sweet words you want, but I'm still keeping you on a tight leash."

"I already lost you once. It was enough."

He was smiling so warmly at her that she blushed and pressed her lips softly against his to distract him. Through the sweetness of her kiss, she felt her very being reach out to him, ready to meet him, finally, as equals. When they broke apart, he kissed her lightly on the nose.

"I love you," she told him, overjoyed and helpless. He kissed her again and tugged her off the stool.

"Come on. Let's go tell Kagome my plan worked."

"Kagome knew about this? That little – "

" – oh, and Sango?"

"What?"

"I love you, too."

A/N: Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I finally got this chapter out. I know it was super cheesy, but sorry if you were expecting more cheese. It felt really wrong to have Miroku be like "ps, love you!" and Sango be like "K!" without giving him a little hell.

Epilogue is coming. Read that baby.

Love!


End file.
